


To Be Alone (With You)

by Riotstar



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Erotica, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:21:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29930598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riotstar/pseuds/Riotstar
Summary: They had developed a signal, unspoken: Enjolras would allow his hand to brush the back of Grantaire's neck as he passed, caressing the smooth skin he had long ago claimed as his own, dipping a finger beneath his collar, and Grantaire would follow.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	To Be Alone (With You)

Enjolras is a creature built for war; Grantaire takes what he can get of him.

They had developed a signal, unspoken: Enjolras would allow his hand to brush the back of Grantaire's neck as he passed, caressing the smooth skin he had long ago claimed as his own, dipping a finger beneath his collar, and Grantaire would follow; sometimes at once, if the touch was harsh and urgent; sometimes hours later, when the candles burned low and their friends departed. Occasionally, Enjolras would let his hand rest there, as he continued his conversation, toying with the curls at the nape of Grantaire's neck, as he conducted the business of setting the world to rights, seemingly unaware of what his hands were doing. Grantaire would sit still and silent as stone, to prevent the spell being broken, until Enjolras moved on, and Grantaire knew he would follow him through the underworld, as far as the Styx would carry them, if that was where Enjolras led him.

Sometimes it was quick and stolen; a brief escape from reality; a kiss in an empty corridor, followed by hands and mouths working swiftly to reach release before they could be caught: Enjolras would be fierce and impatient, Grantaire would meet his demands without conversation.

Sometimes they were fuelled by passion: anger, two sides of the same coin for Enjolras. If events had not gone his way, or he had been disappointed by hope amounted to nothing, he would let the sharpness of his fingernails be felt, or tug at a strand of hair as he withdrew, and Grantaire would know he was in for a tumultuous night. Enjolras would scratch and bite and wound, with his tongue as well as his fists, his jagged edges cutting the hands that sought to piece him back together, even as they gathered the spears he hurled at his would-be saviour. Grantaire gave as good as he got, pinning Enjolras beneath him as he pressed release from him, pouring his own frustration and hurt into absolving Enjolras of his. He would meet resistance every step of the way, as Enjolras cursed and needled, finding just the right words to make Grantaire's role in their charade as difficult as he could, but if Grantaire tried to pull away he would be drawn back again, to renewed ferocity, the fires burning hotter in the absence of containment.

And sometimes, if the mood was right; if the act of remaking society in their idealised image was succeeding, Enjolras would sit with them, would accompany his companions as they drank and laughed and sang, of love for their country and for each other. He would sit beside Grantaire, letting his fingertips wander, and when they were alone Grantaire would be permitted to be tender; to take Enjolras back to his bed and kiss every inch of his skin, to explore at his leisure. Grantaire would let his words, everything he wished to say to Enjolras, flow out in rivers of compliments, of comparisons to gods and heroes, mortal and enduring. He would say 'what fine marble!', as he mapped out the shape of Enjolras's body with lips and fingertips, marvelling at how such a finite form could contain so much spirit. Sometimes Enjolras would respond in kind: conducting his own exploration in return. His was a quiet voyage of discovery, but Grantaire knew the meaning behind every breath drawn a little sharper, every soft moan, every whimper.

Those were Grantaire's favourite nights.

Grantaire had asked Enjolras, once, why he came to him for release, out of all the possible avenues; despite the fact he was a non-believer. Enjolras had let his thoughts pass openly across his features, searching, unhurried, as he sought his response; as Grantaire lay in his arms: arms better suited to carrying the implements of war into battle, only temporarily turned to gentler affairs.

"When I'm alone with you, I feel human, if only for a moment."

Grantaire hoped he could one day say 'put down your sword, little Ares, your work is done', but deep down he knew that day would likely never come, and, if it did, his lover would depart, returned to dust scattered among the stars; his purpose fulfilled, his form no longer required. 

Enjolras is a creature built for war; Grantaire takes what he can get of him.

**Author's Note:**

> Just some Hozier feels that turned into a mini-fic :P


End file.
